False Note (Alibis collection) by David Lagercrantz

Author:David Lagercrantz [Lagercrantz, David]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Amazon Original Stories
Published: 2025-06-02T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 5

They gave me back my father’s bracelets and rings that I had been wearing on the last night of his life.

As I went home, I put them back on—something that would surely be of interest to a psychologist or two. But I didn’t care. I just hid myself away as best I could.

I knew I could be taken back in at any moment, and it wouldn’t surprise me to learn I’d been bugged or tailed. But the court didn’t have sufficient proof to jail me, so I could go home and pull the curtains down. The first day, I didn’t drink anything. The second day, I was at the state-owned liquor store twice. By the third day, I was singing drunken, hoarse songs, surprised at the power in my voice.

Otherwise, I just mostly cried or cursed myself. Most often I woke at dawn—sometimes with the fleeting feeling that it might be an okay day. But that feeling quickly evaporated. I always swore to myself that I wouldn’t read the news, but five or ten minutes later, I’d break that promise.

I read everything—absolutely everything—about the murder, and several times a day I called Lars, who had become my lawyer. So, I now knew almost as much about the crime as the police.

I knew that my father had been in an awful state after I had left him that afternoon. He had called and texted Ebba over and over. Ebba replied that she hadn’t said a word to me—nothing to anyone at all. She had no idea who’d spilled the beans, and worst of all, it didn’t matter either, she assured him.

I’ve covered it up with makeup. I love you, she wrote.

At eight o’clock that evening, when my father had four hours to live, they decided they’d meet up at his house. But at some point it had clearly become more involved. Ebba wrote several messages saying first that she’d be late, then that she had period cramps and had to stay home. She was probably scared. When she was questioned the following day, she hadn’t covered up her bruises at all; she looked pretty bad, and she had two broken ribs.

Dad called other friends and lovers instead, so it was no secret that I’d been there that afternoon, taking a swing at him. “He’s envious of me,” he said to his old fling Helen. But Helen, who’d always been feistier than his other women, stated the obvious, “You don’t go around stealing your son’s girlfriends. You just don’t. It’s despicable.” Dad shouted back at her, hung up, and went to his regular watering hole, the stylish Erik’s, an upscale restaurant right next to Oscar’s Church, which loomed majestically above the neighborhood.

As usual, he greeted all the guests and staff and took selfies. But he looked scared, they said, looking around as though he were worried, sitting at the back of the bar, more hunched over than usual. He drank quite heavily, whiskey doubles with beer chasers, getting drunk pretty early. Yet he was unusually quiet, not getting into his usual give-and-take with the staff.

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